The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(67)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

He stood up and strode to the window. “What is it?” Lady Georgina called from behind him. In the distance, a pyramid of light lit the night, glowing like something out of hell itself.

“Harry.” He felt Lady Georgina’s fingers on his bare shoulder. “What—?”

“Granville House is burning.” Bennet. Panic, pure and instinctual, flooded his veins.

Lady Georgina gasped. “Oh, my dear Lord.”

Harry whirled and caught his shirt, flinging it on. “I need to go. See if I can help in any way.” Was Bennet asleep in his father’s house tonight?

“Of course.” She bent to pick up his breeches. “I’ll come with you.”

“No.” He snatched the breeches from her hand and tried to control his voice. “No. You must stay here.”

Lady Georgina frowned in that stubborn way of hers. He didn’t have time for this. Bennet needed him now. “But I—” she began. “Listen to me.” Harry finished tucking in his shirt and grabbed his lady’s upper arms. “I want you to do as I tell you. Granville is dangerous. He doesn’t like you. I saw the look he gave you when you took me from his tender care.”

“But surely you’ll need me.”

She wasn’t listening to his words. She thought herself invincible, his beautiful lady, and she was simply going to do as she pleased. Regardless of what he thought. Regardless of Granville. Regardless of the danger to herself and the babe.

Harry felt fear build to an unbearable level inside him. “I don’t need you there.” He shook her. “You’ll only get in the way. You might get yourself killed. Do you understand?”

“I understand you are worried, Harry, but—”

Would she never give up? “Goddamn it!” He frantically looked around for his boots. “I can’t fight the fire and you at the same time. Stay here!”

There they were, half under the bedskirts. He pulled his boots out and stamped them on, then snatched up his coat and waistcoat. He ran to the door. No use going out the window again—all of England would know soon enough that he’d been in his lady’s bed.

He twisted at the door to repeat, “Stay here!”

On his last glimpse of her, Lady Georgina seemed to be pouting.

He thundered down the stairs, pulling on his coat. He would have to do a lot of apologizing when he returned, but he didn’t have time to think of that now. His brother needed him. He dashed to the front door, waking a sleeping footman as he passed, and then he was out in the night. Gravel crunched beneath his boots. He ran around the corner of Woldsly. He’d tied the mare not far from his lady’s window.

Come on. Come on.

The mare was standing in the shadows, dozing. He vaulted into the saddle, startling the horse. He kicked her into a gallop, rounding the manor. By the time they hit the drive, the mare was going flat out. Here in the open, the fire seemed to loom larger in the sky. Even from this distance, he could see the flames leaping into heaven. He thought he smelled the smoke. It looked huge. Was the whole of Granville House engulfed? The mare reached the road and he slowed just enough to make sure there were no obstacles ahead. If Bennet and Will had been inside asleep…

Harry shook the thought away. He would not think until he reached Granville House and saw the damage.

Past the stream, lights glowed in the cottages dotting the hills. The farmers who lived and worked on Granville land were awake and must know of the blaze. But strangely he met no one else hurrying to the fire. Had they gone on ahead or were they huddled inside their cottages, pretending they didn’t see? He topped the rise before the Granville gates, and the wind blew smoke and dancing ashes in his face. The mare was flecked with foam, but he urged her on down the drive.

And then he saw. The blaze had enveloped the stables, but Granville House was yet untouched.

The mare reared at the sight of the fire. Harry fought her down and forced her closer. As they neared, he could hear the shouting of men and the dreadful roar of the flames consuming the stables. Granville prided himself on his horseflesh, and he probably had twenty or more horses stabled here.

Only two horses were outside the stables.

Harry clattered into the yard, unnoticed by the lord or his servants. Men milled, half-dressed, seemingly in a daze. Their blackened faces were weirdly lit by the flames, the whites of eyes and teeth reflecting the glow. A few had formed a line and threw puny buckets of water on the inferno, merely making the monster more angry. In the middle of it all, Silas Granville was a figure out of hell. In his nightshirt, his bare legs sticking out of buckle shoes, his gray hair standing wildly on end, he surged around the courtyard, shaking his fists.

“Get him! Get him!” Granville cuffed a man, sending him sprawling to the cobblestones. “Goddamn all of you! I’ll see you run out of my lands! I’ll see you hung, you filthy curs! Someone get my son!”

Only on the last word did Harry realize a man was trapped in the inferno. He stared at the burning stables. The flames licked hungrily at the walls. Was it Thomas or Bennet?

“Nooo!”

Somehow, over the roaring and shouting, he heard the thin wail. He swung in its direction and saw Will, held physically off the ground by a burly footman. The boy struggled and fought, his gaze fixed on the flames all the while. “Nooo!”

It was Bennet in there.

Harry jumped from his horse and ran to the line of men hauling water. He grabbed a full bucket and up ended it over his own head, gasping as the cold water slapped him.

“Oy!” someone yelled.

Harry ignored the shout and plunged into the stable.

It was like diving into the sun. The heat embraced and overwhelmed him, pulling him greedily down. The water in his hair and clothes hissed as it turned to steam. A black wall of smoke blocked his way. Around him, horses screamed their fear. He smelled ashes and, horribly, burning flesh. And everywhere, over all the rest, the awful flames eating the stable and everything within.

“Bennet!” He had the breath for one bellow.

His second breath brought ashes and burning heat into his lungs. Harry choked, unable to speak. He pulled his damp shirt up and covered his nose and mouth, but it made little difference. He stumbled forward like a drunkard, desperately feeling with his hands. How long could a man live without air? His foot struck something. Unable to see, he fell forward. He landed on a body, felt hair.

“Harry.” A ghastly rasp. Bennet.

Harry searched quickly with his hands. He’d found Bennet. And another man.