A Talent for Trickery by Alissa Johnson

Author:Alissa Johnson [Johnson, Alissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2015-09-10T16:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

He could still hear her coughing.

Leaning against the wall next to Lottie’s door, Owen bowed his head and curled his hands into fists. He struggled to find the calm so necessary for control. He’d had it earlier. When he’d first spotted the flames from his upstairs window, he’d been calm.

His heart had performed one long, sick roll when the maid came tearing down the hall sobbing that Miss Bales and Miss Esther were nowhere to be found, then it had settled into place—or, rather, it had become cemented in place, cold and bloodless, as unyielding determination took over. His hands had been steady when he grabbed two blankets off the bed and tossed one to Samuel in the hall. His voice had been strong when he ordered a footman to keep Peter inside and strong still when he’d spotted Gabriel running out from the woods and had shouted at him to watch the tree line.

He’d crossed the lawn at a dead run, but he’d been in control. Until he’d heard the screams. Lottie’s screams. And a terror unlike any he’d known had grabbed him by the throat.

He’d fought it back. He’d chained it down so he could do what needed to be done, shoving his blanket in a trough outside the stable, throwing it around him before charging into the flames. There had been a wall of them. He hadn’t stopped to think how thick the wall might be, how deep the flames might go. How useless his efforts might be.

The relief he’d felt when he’d found her, kicking out weakly at the straw, had nearly brought him to his knees.

She was alive and conscious. He wasn’t too late.

He’d scooped her up, carried her out, and made the mistake of letting his control slip.

Sometime during the trip from the stable to the house, the fear had seeped back in, and with it came a viscous rage. He couldn’t separate the two now, the sick panic of seeing Lottie in danger and pain and the fury for the man responsible for both. The need to hit something, to swing and pound until he saw blood, tore at him. He wanted aching fists and swollen knuckles. He wanted the satisfaction of hearing bone crunch beneath his blows.

But more than that, more than anything, he wanted back in Lottie’s room.

With neither option available to him, Owen blew out a shaky breath, let his head drop back against the wall, and resigned himself to his third, final, and most difficult choice of action.

He waited.

* * *

The physician came and went, leaving behind a small measure of real relief. The ladies would recover. He recommended bed rest, cooled tea with plenty of honey for the throat, and laudanum for pain once the coughing eased. A close eye would need to be kept on Miss Bales’s leg. The injury was not severe, but the possibility of infection could not be ruled out. Any sign of the wound turning septic, and he should be fetched immediately. Preferably by someone other than Sir Samuel Brass—the man drove like a lunatic.

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