“Alright, little violet. Out you go,” he said, then scooped her up and over the ledge to set her feet on solid ground. She unfurled from him. Her hand glided down his arm before wrapping around his own with a gentle tug.
He shook his head. “I have to get him.”
“Benedict—” Angry coughs broke from her chest.
He gave her a gentle shove. “Go, I’ll be a moment.”
Benedict whirled back toward his father, still struggling to his feet. “Come with me.”
“I would rather die here than watch aWaylandsully my home and my bloodline.”
Benedict stared at his father for a moment, trying to rise on damaged knees. He wore a hateful sneer, even as the flames drew closer.
Somewhere down the hall, something collapsed. Scattering glass drowned out the roar of the flames for a breath—the interruption jolted Benedict back into action.
“Fine, take this. You can die with it.” The whip landed with a clatter at his father’s knees.
Benedict vaulted over the window ledge. The cool night air enveloped him—a blessed relief.
Each of Eliza’s ragged coughs filled his soul as he wrapped an arm around her waist, then pulled her away from his burning legacy.
Chapter Forty-Seven
She caughta soot-covered Benedict in her arms as soon as he stumbled from the window.
He urged her to back away from the house before melting into her.
“Are you well? Are you hurt?” His voice was hoarse as he tugged the damp cloth to his neck.
She shook her head, still pressed into his shoulder, clinging to him even tighter.
They were only able to enjoy a moment’s reprieve before great shuddering coughs racked her body. Benedict’s hands soothed down her spine as she hacked.
“Sir,” a voice interrupted. “The other gentleman has not made it back out yet.”
Eliza froze, somehow knowing that the man wasn’t referring to Blackwood.
“Papa?” she called out, voice hoarse.
Before she could move, Benedict’s lips found her forehead.
“Stay here. Don’t move.” His hand slipped from hers to pull the damp cloth back over his mouth and nose. And then he strode purposefully back into the burning house through thefront door. She stared stupidly for a moment while her mind caught up with her eyes.
“Benedict!” She took a singular step before powerful arms banded about her belly.
“No, you don’t, sweetheart. The lad will not forgive us if you’re hurt,” a man’s voice said. “Keep her?” he asked someone else.
Suddenly, a woman was beside her, nodding. The woman grabbed her wrist, holding her there. “Go help with the brigade. Be careful!”
Eliza could not comprehend the sight before her, even as the fire raged, various thuds and crashes sounding as parts of the house succumbed to the feasting flames.
Soft hands wiped at her filthy face, brushing away the tears Eliza hadn’t noticed. A dam broke once she was aware of the tears, the sobs trapped in her chest demanding to escape. She collapsed against the woman, whimpering between heaving, ragged breaths. The soot coating her throat and lungs pooled in her mouth. She retched.
Each horrific banging and smashing sound that escaped the house left her more certain that no one could ever escape.
The woman stayed beside her, steadying hands rubbing Eliza’s shoulders. She murmured something soft Eliza could not hear.
Help arrived, and buckets thudded into dozens of hands, followed by water hissing against burning stone and men shouting directions over the roar.
